


A Mid Summer Day's Dream

by beyondthesea1 (bunchofgrapes)



Category: Voyage to the Bottom of the Sea
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-13
Updated: 2013-08-13
Packaged: 2017-12-23 09:53:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/924957
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bunchofgrapes/pseuds/beyondthesea1
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daydreams have a way of driving a person to distraction...</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Mid Summer Day's Dream

**Author's Note:**

> Author's note: This story previously appeared on Uncharted Waters.

 

It was an ideal summer day; the kind of day where lovers took long walks along the beach holding hands, whispering secrets, sharing promises of the future while stealing errant kisses under the shade of the Banyan trees.

Angie Moreira gazed dreamily out the window. On a day like today, she could think of a dozen other things she’d rather be doing right now and deciphering notes in the Admiral’s distorted scratch just wasn’t one of them. Turning her attention to the indiscernible word in front of her, she let out a frustrated sigh. Ordinarily, she was a master at interpretive handwriting but this word was well beyond her limits. Look on the bright side, now you’ve got an excuse to linger in close proximity to him. With a renewed spirit and a knowing smile she grabbed the notepad and rose from her chair, knocking once on the open door before entering. 

Glancing up from the notes he was reading, he regarded her curiously, “Yes, Angie?”

Even from across the expanse of the office, she could easily discern the bright blue of his eyes. Crossing the room, “Sir, I hate to disturb you but I’m having a terrible time deciphering this word.” As she stood beside him, the faint, pleasant smell of aftershave hung in the air. It wasn’t a strong or overpowering smell, just enough to emphasize the masculinity of the man sitting beside her. And entice the woman standing next to him.

He took the pad from her hand and studied the word with a frown. He hated to admit it but even he was having a hard time figuring out what he had written. “I think I’m beginning to get the handwriting of a serial killer,” he said with an incredulous laugh. 

Angie, too, had a hard time stifling the giggle that escaped her lips. 

“I think the word is schistosome. That’s s-c-h-i-s-t-o-s-o-m-e. I can’t really think of anything else it could be and since we had a slight problem with them, it stands to reason.” He handed the pad back to her brushing his hand against hers, sending a pulse of electricity through her veins. 

Taking the opportunity to remain near him a few more minutes, she asked, “I’m almost afraid to ask but what is a schistosome?”

A look of amusement crossed his handsome, rugged features as he looked up at her and explained: “It’s a tropical trematode worm, many of which are parasitic in the blood of mammals.”

Her face reflected her repulsion. “Don’t tell me there was some kind of an outbreak on board Seaview?”

Again, he chuckled. He didn’t know a woman yet who didn’t crinkle her nose in disgust at the mere mention of the word, worm. His secretary was no different. “It was very small and immediately contained.”

It was a brief but very relaxed exchange as were most of their conversations. Angie was keenly aware of the Admiral’s reputation and she more than anyone knew his idiosyncrasies. Yes, he could be impatient and quick-tempered but most of the time, he was merely reacting to circumstances. Unless he was particularly stressed, he rarely reacted without provocation. In her presence, he was always a perfect gentleman, caring and extremely generous. Maybe that was why she had had a crush on him since the first day she met him. Settling comfortably behind her desk, her mind wandered, remembering back almost three years ago, to that fateful day in March. 

_She had jumped at the opportunity to support Admiral Harriman Nelson when she had first learned of the position. She had seen the picture of the man in the newspaper, so handsome in his dark blue uniform, and was excited to learn of the potential job opportunity. The brand new Nelson Institute of Marine Research was breaking ground and, desperately seeking employment after her relocation from the small Texas town to Southern California, she was optimistic about her upcoming interview with Admiral Nelson._

_As luck would have it, a continued pattern of warm weather broke that day, drowning Santa Barbara in a never-ending torrential downpour. A jack-knifed tractor-trailer already threatened to make her late for her appointment, something she knew a retired military man would not tolerate. Sitting in the mile long traffic backup, she remembered how demanding her own father, an Air Force Colonel, was for punctuality._

_Arriving at the first security gates a mere fifteen minutes late, she frantically searched the car for her umbrella, realizing with sickening frustration that it was still sitting in the neat little umbrella stand by the front door. She had parked the car in the carport the night before and without thinking ahead, had rushed out of the house without it. Peering up at the blanket of solid gray clouds, she banged her hand against the steering wheel. How could I be so stupid!_

_Finding a parking space in relative proximity to the intimidating glass doors, taking in a deep breath and gathering up her purse, she threw open the car door and raced up the steps as quickly as her Etienne Aigner pumps would carry her. Trying frantically to smooth out the damp wrinkles in her navy blue linen dress, she tried to fix her hair. Realizing it was hopeless to try to arrange something fused together with hairspray, she resigned herself to her fate. Stepping into the elevator and pressing “6”, she prayed the mutant butterflies in her stomach would come to a rest. As the doors opened directly in front of the carved oak door with the name, “Admiral Harriman Nelson” prominent on the brass nameplate, she realized that not only were the butterflies not resting, they were doing a best two out of three falls._

_Hearing the tap, tap, tap of a typewriter, she timidly opened the door and peered around, startled at the sight that greeted her. Sitting behind the large oak secretarial desk, using two index fingers to hunt and peck the keys to the brand new IBM Selectwriter, sat the Admiral Harriman Nelson._

_Looking up as she came into the room, it was not difficult to discern the heavy irritation pasted over his rugged features. “Come in, come in,” he said, his gruff greeting doing little to soothe her battling butterflies as he continued to focus his attention on the cursed machine in front of him._

_“I’m Angela Moreira,” she tried to say with some force. She didn’t want to appear as intimidated as she felt._

_At the mention of her name, his features lightened considerably. His irritation turning quickly to embarrassment, he rose sharply, sticking out his hand in greeting._

_He wasn’t a very tall man. Probably short by most male standards but there was nothing lacking in his demeanor. Whatever he was missing in height he more than made up in sheer commanding presence. She had never been so taken by any one man’s aura the way she had been taken with his in one single instance. And when he spoke, when he set his expression and focused his gaze on her and let the words roll in that resonant voice, she felt as if her legs would betray her._

_She shook his outstretched hand, feeling immediately the firm yet not overpowering grip. There was an indescribable electricity that seemed to spark at his touch, emitting a vibrant force through her veins. Gazing into the bright blue eyes, she felt the calm of the ocean on a cool, sunny day. There were no more butterflies._

_“Uh, mis…” he paused when it occurred to him that he didn’t know if she were a Miss or Mrs._

_“Miss Moreira,” she replied calmly, realizing self-consciously that she still held his hand._

_“Well, Miss Moreira, if you know how to use this blasted thing, the job is yours.”_

_She was overwhelmed! No, she thought, stupefied was a much better word. “Really?” was the only word she could force from her lips._

_“Really,” he repeated, stepping away from the desk and retreating to the safety of his office. His voice carrying from the other room, she moved to the doorway, struck by the expansive office piled high with box after box of books, drawings, and equipment. He had taken a seat in the high-backed leather chair. “Don’t look so surprised,” he said, methodically searching each drawer for something. “We have already done a very extensive search on your background and everything is in perfect order. You come highly recommended. Besides, you didn’t laugh at my inability to type.”_

_“Actually, I did smile when I opened the door.”_

_“Ah,” he said, waving a finger, “but you didn’t laugh.” He broke into a broad smile that seemed to warm her to the core—something that almost troubled her on that very first day._

Engrossed in her typing, she momentarily looked up, surprised to see him standing in front of her desk, idly sifting through his mail. Perusing the latest copy of All Hands, he settled into the leather chair directly across from her, his attention captured by some article.

She would be hard-pressed to deny she was attracted to Harriman Nelson. And why not? He was an attractive man, not so much good-looking as ruggedly handsome with features chiseled instead of sculpted. He carried himself with the kind of confidence and toughness that made a woman feel protected and yet, there was a tenderness to him that she knew betrayed a very sensitive, rarely seen side of a very private man. He had created, honed to perfection, the very hard outer shell that protected this other side of him, this side that Angie knew he rarely exposed. 

This attraction had manifested itself in the worst way for her. And lately she found herself daydreaming in such a way that she blushed whenever he came into the room. He was sitting across from her now, doing something as inconspicuous as sitting in a chair and reading a magazine. With his fingers idly stroking the exposed hair peeking out from the top of his open collar, he was engrossed in an article, unaware of his secretary’s longing, transfixed gaze. 

Angie’s eyes wandered. He was wearing khaki today. Ordinarily, she didn’t like the khaki. With his reddish-brown hair and fair complexion, the khaki uniform just didn’t do him justice like the dark winter uniform did. But right now, as her eyes fixed pointedly on the very obvious, very strategic bulge in his trousers, she was willing to offer a written testimonial on the merits of the underappreciated khaki.

Unable to tear her eyes away from the object of her desire, she lost herself in her reveries, envisioning the Admiral sans khaki and in all his glory. The thought brought a smile to her lips. 

He was a sturdy, well-built man of that she was certain. She had had the misfortune or was that the fortune one day of snagging her heel on the plush carpet. Ordinarily, she might have maintained her balance easily but on this particular day, she was toting a box of supplies. With her hands full, she was in an uncontrollable freefall. Or thought she was. As the supplies went flying, strong hands caught her firmly around the waist and shoulder, supporting her lithe figure with astute confidence. Looking up, she found herself gazing into the bluest eyes she had ever seen. His look of concern quickly faded to amusement as he lifted her to her feet. 

“Are you alright?” he asked once her feet were squarely on the floor.

Her hands still tightly gripping his upper arms, she could feel the compact biceps, the strong shoulders beneath the cotton fabric. It took all her resolve to maintain her composure that day, as it seemed to now.

She heard the page turn and looked up. He was so absorbed, he didn’t notice her eyes trained unabashedly on him. Leaning heavily on one elbow, her chin resting on her palm, she let her mind wander…

 

It was very uncomplicated: she simply walked towards him, stopping inches away from him, her heart pounding, her nerves raw and tingling. He looked up expectantly; watching her intently as she slowly sunk to his level, settling on his lap, facing him. Gently, she placed both hands on either side of his face, the same face she had spent hours upon hours studying, paying careful attention to every detail, every line, every imperfection, then she kissed him. There was no aggression in her actions, just a deep sensual contact that conveyed years of unrequited affection. His first inclination was to back away yet something deep within urged him forward, returning her actions with an ardor equal to her own.

“I’ve wanted to do that since the first day I saw you sitting behind the desk pecking at the typewriter,” she confessed as they reluctantly parted. 

“Really?” he asked, cocking an eyebrow yet never taking his eyes off her lips. “You like a fellow when he’s exposing his greatest weakness?”

“Absolutely.” Her eyes darted from his lips to his eyes then back again. “It evens the odds.” She leaned forward again.

“I wouldn’t say that.” He met her halfway. 

His mouth was warm and inviting and so incredibly stimulating that his mere kiss sent vibrant impulses racing through her body. Not breaking the kiss, she slid one hand around his neck, feeling the short hair at the nape, while working loose the buttons of his shirt with the other hand. Running her hand over his chest, letting her fingers comb the soft, reddish-brown hair, she reveled in the feeling of firm muscle beneath her palm. 

She pulled away from him, allowing his fingers to deftly free the buttons of her silk blouse. Letting the delicate material float onto the plush carpet, she felt the last bastion of encumbrance open beneath his fingers in one swift move then, with an expertise honed by years of practice, the dark skirt and silk panties melted away at his touch. 

He kissed her neck, followed the natural line down the center of her chest then arduously explored each breast. Closing her eyes as his tongue traced the outline of each nipple, she lost herself in the incredible sensations so long denied. She became acutely aware of his hands running over her back, over the curve of her buttocks, slow and gentle, treating her body as if it were a new, delicate object that beckoned to be systematically investigated. His actions were deliberately sensual, yet increasingly urgent as his desire became more imperative. 

Glancing into his eyes, she caught the almost primal look as his mouth found hers. Suddenly, there were no more deliberate actions, replaced instead by nothing but heat and desire. Impulsively, his hand roamed, fingers exploring, finding ways to cause her body to writhe and lurch convulsively. 

Her hand instinctively rubbed against the bulge in his trousers. Beneath her fingers she could feel the tightness, the oppressing tension encumbered by cotton fabric. Carefully loosening the belt of his khakis and running the zipper down, she slid her hand inside, feeling his body quiver at her touch.

Rising to her feet, her hand reaching out for his, she urged him up from the chair. Letting his trousers fall to the floor, he stood before her, completely unfettered, the picture of potent masculinity. Bringing his body close to hers, she felt the pressing hardness against her thigh, the tenseness that seized his body. She kissed him again, feeling the heat of him radiate against her skin. 

He urged her into the overstuffed chair then dropped to one knee before her. His hands traveled along her smooth thighs, caressing the round flesh of her buttocks as he urged her hips towards him. His kisses came like a whisper on the hollows of her thighs, so gentle yet burning in the devastating desire they created. Piercing eyes held hers for an instant before the world went white. He had taken away her ability for rational thought, making her incapable of anything except obeying the hunger overwhelming her so completely. He was thorough and relentless in his assault and when he finally ceased, he stealthily crept along her tingling flesh and pounced upon her lips like a striking cat. She dragged her nails along the flesh of his back, urgently seeking him out then melting as she felt the pervading tightness as he slowly guided himself into her. 

With one hand upon her right breast, coyly toying with the nipple, and the other tightly gripping the top of the overstuffed chair, he began a slow, steady rhythm that became more pressing, more intense. Her arms snaking around his neck, her legs hooking around his waist, she kept regular pace with his long, even strokes. 

The pressure mounted, becoming more than she could stand and somehow, he sensed it. Seeking out her hand and holding it tightly against his chest, his tempo was punishing. She felt as if she were totally out of control, as if everything that had been pent-up for so long was suddenly expelled in one fierce, driving climax. She became oblivious to everything around her, to the sound of hot skin against hot skin, to the sound of the deep, uncontrollable, guttural grunt that escaped his lips or the grimace that contorted his face as he released so savagely he thought he would collapse. 

His head resting against her shoulder, his senses reeling, he was unable to move. When at last she regained coherent thought, she brushed her fingers through his hair then lightly kissed his shoulder, his skin damp beneath her lips. He kissed her neck then... 

 

The door to the office swung open and Lee Crane stepped inside, stopping dead in his tracks. “Admiral!”

Looking up, a curious grin crossing his face, “Yes, Lee?”

Lee, slightly taken aback, “Sorry, I didn’t expect to see you sitting there.”

“If I go back to my office and you come in again, would that help?” the Admiral replied with a chuckle. Neither man noticed the bright red flush radiating from the Admiral’s secretary across the room. 

Putting a hand to her cheek, Angie could feel the heat blazing. She couldn’t look at the Admiral without causing the fire to return. Without a word, she quickly rose from her chair, praying that neither man paid her any notice. “Admiral, I need to run to the supply room. I’ll be back in a minute.” She darted out the door. If he had made any reply, she hadn’t heard it.

“Not even a hello?” Lee asked with feigned disappointment as the door quickly closed behind her.

“Lee, did she look a bit flushed to you?” the Admiral asked with some concern.

“No more than usual. I think it’s the new makeup they must be using now. Lola looked the same way the other afternoon.”

The Admiral rolled his eyes. Women’s beauty habits were well out of his scope. “Come on, Lee.” Laying aside his mail, he stood and stretched. “I want to show you this new design I’ve been working on. I think it will help alleviate all these blasted alien invasions that seem to be targeting us lately.”

 

Staring at the bright red flush to her olive cheeks, Angie Moreira cupped her hand under the cool water then dabbed it on her burning skin. Hearing the door to the Ladies’ room open, she was relieved to see Lola, Commander Lee Crane’s secretary and her closest friend, enter. 

Lola took one amused glance at her friend: “Don’t tell me you had that fantasy again?”

“Isn’t it obvious? Honestly Lola, I don’t know what I’m going to do. He came out to read a magazine…”

“Let me guess, he sat in the chair across from your desk and the bulge was there again.”

She put a hand on the countertop as her knees went weak. “Yes,” she said, drawing the word out heavily. “Well, that just got my mind racing.”

Lola smiled knowingly, her head nodding in understanding. “Lee did the same thing to me the other day. My God, I thought I was going to melt right then and there. How far did you get this time?”

“Oh, he was practically smoking the cigarette. Then Lee came in and that was the end of it.”

Lola raised her eyebrows in congratulatory excitement. “And how was it?”

Angie’s eyes rolled dreamily, conveying her mental ecstasy. “It was everything I thought it would be and more.”

“Naturally! Would we ever fantasize them as being anything less than perfect lovers? It would defeat the purpose.”

With a resigned, yet amused shrug, “You’re absolutely right.” She checked her color and primped her hair one more time. “Well, I suppose I had better get back,” she began, turning on her heel and heading towards the door. “I told him I was going to the supply room. I probably should come back with a few supplies or he’ll start wondering.”

 

Arms loaded with several notepads, cheeks finally returning to their natural light olive complexion, she allowed herself one knowing smile before opening the door. One wicked, lustful, knowing smile.

 

THE END


End file.
